31 October
by fictionalcandie
Summary: When the world stopped, Sirius was the one left standing. [Oneshot. Not at all a happy fic.]


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is intellectually the property of J.K. Rowling, and financially the property of the same, and some other people too. But it isn't mine. The only thing that's mine is the fic, not the world or the characters or anything like that.

**Author's Note:** This took me a year and a half to finish. I've never put this much work into anything, including most of my works of original fiction. It utterly consumed me for three days, and I was totally useless to all my friends. It generates more warm feelings in me than all my other fics combined, which is saying something. It's my Baby. I desperately hope you like it.

I send lots of thanks to my eternally helpful beta, the best-friendific **duva**, who is lovely and generally wonderful. Without her encouragement (and all-purpose egging-on) this fic would still be sitting on my hard drive as no more than a page or so of words completely lacking in purpose. She definitely deserves some of the credit.

Onward, then, to the fic. (And don't forget to review, because it's good karma and we could all use some of that.)

**o.o.o.o**

**31 October, or _When the World Stopped_**

"Yeah, Happy Birthday, Black," Sirius said quietly to himself.

He was sitting, hunched over a half-empty tankard, in the back of the Hog's Head pub. There was a heavy, itchy black cloak thrown over his shoulders, its hood obscuring his face.

It was early evening on the night of Hallowe'en, 1981. It was Sirius's birthday, and life stunk.

James and Lily and little Harry were all holed up together in (ostensibly) Godric's Hollow, and had been for the past week. Sirius hadn't seen them for any of that week -- Peter wouldn't tell him where they were, and thanks to the Fidelius, that meant he'd be wasting his time if he tried to visit.

He'd pestered and demanded, and all but begged to be told, but Peter stubbornly refused. He _claimed_ it was 'for security reasons,' but Sirius was convinced that it was just because Peter was trying to get back at him for the Dungbombs under his sofa last month.

Tonight was his night for visiting Peter, as the runt had promised to be home all day, but he thought he'd put it off for a little while yet. Some people held to the adage 'no sense prolonging the inevitable,' but not Sirius. His motto was more along the lines of 'procrastinate long enough, and it'll all go away.' Of course, Sirius didn't want to spend his birthday evening alone, as he had the earlier part of the day. But all his mates were spoken for...

... Well, except Remus. However, it had been some time since Sirius had felt like visiting his werewolf friend. He made it for full moons, yes, but those he considered merely a testament to the camaraderie of their Hogwarts days. Sirius hardly considered Remus in anything else, anymore.

It was sad, he reflected, that childhood friends could drift so far apart that they'd do that to one another. Friendship was supposed to be eternal, and loyalty along with it. Sirius had reasons to believe that Remus had forgotten that.

He felt the muscles in his jaw clench tightly, just thinking about it. Why, if _he_ were James, he'd... but James insisted he could never do _that_ to Moony, whatever he was now.

To Sirius, such foolishness seemed rather empty-headed. He wouldn't question James, though. Doing so might have caused James to distance himself from Sirius, and life without James (in any sense) would be quite empty, indeed.

Lots of things were empty, just then.

Such as his pint, Sirius realized. He grimaced in displeasure and pushed it away across the otherwise empty little table.

Even the pub was surprisingly empty, adding to his lonely mood. He snorted sadly, to hear himself think so despairingly, but it was true. Normally the Hog's Head was, if not exactly crowded, at least a little less dead – right now there were two other people in the room, one of them the bartender. Sirius had a feeling that the hag asleep in the corner had stopped breathing some time ago.

Normally, there was a decent sprinkling of other patrons around; the gray sort of people that liked such places, who were always on the edge of things. Never quite nasty or bold enough to go Dark, but never honest or good like the Light. 'Gray of mind, soul and temper,' Lily would say when she lectured Sirius about hanging around with the likes of them (or, more serious in her estimation, dragging her husband along).

Sirius, though... Well, while he never felt precisely _at home_ around such people, he felt _invisible_. And much smarter, relatively speaking. Which was why, when as now, he couldn't get a Potter, he sought out his favorite of the shady places.

He sighed. Perhaps, if he thought about it enough, he was glad there were no people there. He figured that lonely was better than invisible, for a birthday.

The door opened.

Sirius turned his head slightly, to look out from under his hood at the small group entering. They were young; younger than him and probably only just out of Hogwarts. Their cloaks and robes were the glossy-black of those who liked making themselves feel dark and mysterious. If he'd been a very small child he might have felt intimidated by their clothing, but as things were, he just snorted derisively to himself.

He knew their type, for they often invaded his places of sanctuary, his havens as it were. They were the naïve, self-declared intelligents who fancied themselves Dark. They were really just an uglier shade of the grays. More sinister than most, but altogether less dangerous. And easier to manipulate, when you got right down to it.

Sirius realized what he'd been doing and turned away, disgusted with himself for falling so discontent that he was reliving assessments he'd made ages ago (by the time he started at Hogwarts, Sirius had already become very good at observing and reading people). He attempted to ignore them, but their loud whispers were getting the better of his meager ability to block out distractions.

They sounded excited, and that alone was enough to annoy him. How dare they be enjoying themselves when he himself was bored out of his mind and miserably lonely, to boot?

He decided to pay attention, just absently of course, hoping maybe he could think of a way to annoy them as much as they were annoying him. He heard enough badly veiled references to Dark Magic and even more badly concealed allusions to 'My Lord' for _any_ fool to know they were Death Eaters -- probably newly initiated too, which was worse -- and was about to give up altogether when he heard something that made his heart stop and his blood run cold.

(He didn't even care how corny that sounded. It was what had happened and till the day he died he would never deny it.)

It took tremendous effort, but he tried desperately and eventually managed to appear at least half normal, should the Grays look around to see if anyone had noticed them say the names Lily and James, or even just Potter. It got worse as he listened longer, hearing nothing specific but more than enough to make him worry tremendously.

He had to check on them, he just had to.

The next several minutes -- he _had_ to wait several minutes, or else they might have suspected something odd about it as he rushed out, and he wouldn't risk getting waylaid, even though he could have taken on all of them on a _hideously_ bad day, which this definitely counted as even then -- the next several minutes he felt were quite possibly the worst in his life till then. He was rooted to his chair and hardly dared move at all, except to keep breathing deeply so he didn't pass out or do something too crazy.

At last he felt it was safe to move. He got to his feet stiffly and left the pub as slowly as he could make himself go, which was probably only a half a second away from running. If the Grays noticed, he really didn't care, and they didn't follow him, so it didn't matter.

The pub door slammed closed behind him. Somehow, it sounded to Sirius's ears like the opening salvo of an advancing army.

He leapt onto his flying motorbike, because he didn't trust himself to Apparate (and besides, he wouldn't leave the bike in such a place) and kicked it started. He was going to visit James's Secret-Keeper, immediately, and not put it off another second; just then, he had the most vicious need to make sure the Potters' secret was safe.

Peter's flat wasn't very far from Hogsmeade, and Sirius made the trip in record time, possibly because he wasn't really paying attention to his speed.

He landed in the almost-vacant parking lot outside the building and got through the front door; he didn't know how. Both flights of stairs he took at breakneck speed, three steps at a time. He skidded to a stop the end of the third hallway, already calling out for Peter.

His voice died when he noticed Peter's door was, not only unlocked, but open a tiny bit. Uh-oh.

He drew his wand.

At his touch, the door flew open with such force, it bounced slightly off the wall. He stuck his head in to assess the situation, but the place seemed completely deserted. And Sirius ought to know about deserted.

He felt a rush of adrenaline flood his still chilly blood, remembering that Peter had intended to stay home tonight, but was so clearly gone. He looked around quickly. Had the Death Eaters already come for Peter? Was he too late?

Then, he would have started to worry quite a bit about his friend, if it hadn't finally penetrated his haste-fogged brain that there was really no sign at all of a struggle, magical or physical. There were quite a few signs of haste, though.

... But that had to be wrong.

It didn't fit.

Sirius took a deep breath to clear his head and realized that the room _smelled_ wrong, as well. There was something malevolent about its non-odor. Sirius couldn't place it, until his mind flashed back to his childhood.

The place smelled, and felt, of recent -- but frequently occurring -- Dark Magic.

He ought to know.

For the next few minutes, Sirius saw things in brief, glaring snippets. It was as if a shutter clicked down over his eyes and froze things into pictures, highlighting important images and processing their significance before his brain identified them. Floo pot tipped over, green dust sparkling all over the hearth, the fire still going strong in the grate. Not long abandoned. _Not long._ Wall-safe in the bedroom -- how long had Peter had that? -- hanging open, Dark Arts books and long, black robes showing.

_Traitor_.

Random things in other rooms, this being a place they'd never thought to search for treachery. Little things, telling things. Branding things, showing the spy among them.

Oh, _Peter_.

Sirius should have seen it, should have known it was coming. God, how could he be so blind? Everything pointed to it, but he hadn't seen. And now...

_James_.

_Lily_.

Oh, God.

_Harry_.

Sirius dropped his frantic, horrified search and ran as fast as he could for the door, the outside and his bike.

He desperately needed to find Peter. Or -- better, probably -- Lily and James.

Oh, _Peter_. How could he _do_ this?

Sirius shook his head and decided that he didn't care about motives. He cared about Lily and James. He had to do something.

It was when he left Peter's flat that it occurred to Sirius. His back hit the wall so he didn't hit the floor and he had to fight the horrible, crippling rage that had overtaken his body and left him barely able to stand upright.

Bad that Peter had so obviously been passing information to Voldemort. Worse that he had betrayed Lily and James and Harry to him. Even worse still that Sirius's beloved Potters were probably dying even as he struggled against his debilitating hatred. But it was absolutely _unthinkable_ that Sirius would bear the guilt for all of that.

With an effort of Herculean proportions, Sirius growled irately and literally threw himself to his bike. Oh, god, but he wished he were not so unsettled as to be unable to Apparate. If he'd even known _where_ to Apparate _to_... Sirius growled again, gunning the engine and taking off into the sky with a roar of the motor and not so much as a Disillusionment Charm, Wizarding Secrecy Act be _damned_.

Perhaps Peter had simply let the charm fall entirely, instead of taking the trouble to tell Voldemort and all his supporters individually? Yes, that seemed the most likely course of action for the lying little rat.

Mostly an attempt to calm himself, he muttered as he thought, "I'm coming, Lily, I'm coming, James."

Sirius would try their house first, just on the outside chance that he'd get lucky. He didn't know what he was going to do when he got there, if they were there and Voldemort was there and by some stroke of sheer good fortune they were still alive. He didn't know what he _could_ do, even, but he was going to try and do something. He couldn't very well not have, after all.

"Don't let me be too late," Sirius prayed, clutching the handlebars for all he was worth. "Please, don't let me be too late."

It seemed like days before he got near Godric's Hollow and realized how terribly right he'd been, but it was really only, barely, a couple of hours.

He saw the Dark Mark first. And then the smoke, wafting from the house in little spurting puffs, as if the place couldn't decide whether it was burning or not. He went faster. There didn't seem to be anyone around, period, and he didn't know what to make of that at all. Then he saw a Muggle or two emerging from the buildings in the nearby village, apparently quite capable of seeing the same sight he could, and he knew They were dead.

He kept going anyway.

He flew straight through the sickly green sign of death, just out of spite, and anger at himself for not being faster. Even from here, he could see the white faces of the Muggles, but didn't think they'd noticed him -- Muggles generally had extraordinary powers of denial.

Deathly pale himself, Sirius managed to land his motorbike a relatively safe distance from the crumbling house. He saw a huge figure appearing from within the place, and shakily dismounted the bike to hurry forward. The man was obviously Hagrid, but what was he doing there?

"Hagrid?" Sirius gasped, stumbling to a halt before the half-giant. He squinted through the faint air of smoke that hung around the other, and observed a bundle in his arms. "What... Hagrid? What have you got, what's that you're holding?" Hagrid opened his mouth, but didn't get a chance to say anything.

The bundle let out a little wail.

"Pa'foo'!"

It was Harry. Sirius thought he might pass out. He never imagined there was such a thing left in the world as joy like this.

"Harry?" gasped Sirius, knowing his face had lit up quite suddenly. He marveled aloud, "It can't be... Harry! Alive?"

Hagrid gave him a twisted little smile that was probably meant to be comforting. "Jus' pulled him out. Poor thin'..." Hagrid trailed off and glanced at the crying child in his arms. "Odd thin'. Hadn't made a noise till now."

"Harry," Sirius breathed reverently. Harry was alive. He couldn't believe it. "Harry."

Harry wailed his godfather's nickname again, but when Sirius touched his cheek gently, his voice faded and he just cried quietly. He closed his brilliant green eyes, but the tears seeped out under his eyelids and Sirius imagined that the poor child understood what had happened, even though he knew that was impossible.

Lily and James's son was alive.

Sirius's heart broke, really and truly, as he remembered that James and Lily were quite obviously dead. Harry was alive, but he was an orphan, now.

How cruel Fate was to the things that came near Sirius.

Sirius looked up into Hagrid's face, knowing there were tear tracks staining his cheeks. Hagrid didn't say anything. "He's all right?" Sirius ventured after a moment. "He's going to be all right?"

"Yeah." Hagrid nodded. "Got a bit of a nasty cut on his head--" Sirius noticed the red mark just as the half-giant mentioned it, "--but other 'en that, he's jus' fine."

Sirius nodded, feeling torn between relief, and something sick crawling in his stomach. He gave a great, shuddering sob that he tried and failed to hide.

Hagrid reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sirius thought he might have said something, but he was so busy coming to his decision that he didn't hear it.

He wiped his eyes, and for the half a second they were clear, he saw Harry's sad little face and made up his mind all at once.

"Give Harry to me. Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him--" Sirius broke off to stifle a sob in the arm of his robes. How was he supposed to deal with something like this? "I'll look after him. I'll take him, I'll look after him. I'll look after him."

Hagrid stared at him quite sorrowfully for a moment, before he shook his head regretfully. "No, I can't. I'm sorry, Sirius. I' got orders from Dumbledore ter take Harry straigh' to him." He paused, and Sirius choked on another sob. "Dumbledore said Harry's ter go ter his aunt an' uncle's."

"No!" Sirius protested wildly, leaving off hiding his sobs. He stepped forward, not sure what he meant to do. His insides were confused, he didn't know what he was thinking, all he was aware of was the _pain_ and _rage_ rolling through his gut. And here was Harry, alive.

"NO!" he repeated, backing up again, but holding out his arms pleadingly. "I'm his godfather, Hagrid. I'm his _godfather_, I should have him."

Hagrid shook his head again. "I'm sorry, Sirius. I' got orders from Dumbledore."

"Please! Give him to me!" He went forward so he could look down into the face of his best friend's son. The baby was crying more now, probably reacting to the stress in his third favorite voice, but still making shockingly little noise. Sirius reached out. "Let me have him."

Hagrid moved away from him with surprising nimbleness. "I'm sorry," he apologized gruffly. "I wish I could. But I' got me orders. Don't know why, but Dumbledore says Harry's ter go to his aunt an' uncle's, an' that's where I'm takin' him."

Sirius remembered then that Dumbledore would believe he'd been the Secret-Keeper. Of course he wouldn't want Harry going to a traitor. Sirius would never be able to get Harry now, even if he were to fight Hagrid for him. And Sirius was almost, but not quite, grief-stupid enough to try such a thing.

He gave up, everything in him screaming not to, but there was nothing he could do.

"All right," he admitted quietly, weeping harder. "All right. But take the bike, will you? You'll get wherever you're going faster."

Hagrid stared at him a moment, clearly astonished. "Yer motorbike? But ye--"

"I won't need it anymore," muttered Sirius raggedly. He glanced one last, torturous time at Harry, then turned away. He faced the broken house.

Hagrid waited a little before he said, so sadly Sirius felt he must be bleeding his pain into the words, "Lily an' James... I-I-I'm _sorry_."

Sirius had nothing he could say to that.

There was a sputter and a roar as the motorbike's engine came to life. Then Hagrid was gone, taking with him almost the last two things on earth Sirius thought he might care for.

Sirius didn't know why he didn't just die when he realized that he would probably never see Harry again; the ache in his chest was so bad.

He remembered all the times he'd held Harry, all the times he'd rocked Harry to sleep despite Lily and James screaming at each other -- the fights they'd have just for the make-up sex after.

He remembered watching James beam because Harry had taken his first step and it had been to _Daddy_ instead of Mummy.

He remembered watching Lily smile smugly because Harry had said his first word and it had been _Mummy_ instead of Daddy.

He remembered so many happy moments.

He stopped thinking. There was a body in the doorway. It had been there all along. Sirius still didn't want to see it there. He knew who it was-- had been.

"Oh, g-- _Why_! For the love of _anything_, WHY!" Sirius screamed without much warning, falling brokenly to the ground where he stood, not having the courage to approach the black haired body he saw just within the ruin. His knees hit the pavement hard, but he didn't care. "_WHY?_"

But he knew why.

Oh yes, he knew why it had happened. He suddenly fancied he knew _exactly_ why it had happened.

"... WORMTAIL!"

The furious roar seemed to echo off the very stars, and Sirius could feel it breaking his heart into a million pieces all over again.

The Muggles would be coming soon.

He didn't care.

Sobbing so heavily you could see his body quiver from as far away as you could even see him, Sirius got up and staggered forward. He halted just inside the door and knelt next to his best friend.

The angry, determined look on the still, ashy face, in those glassy wide eyes staring at the ceiling, nearly finished Sirius. But the crack he heard was just James's wand snapping beneath his knees.

He pulled James up and clutched the rapidly cooling body to his chest, sobbing. It might have been a prayer he whispered then, in his anguished, halting voice. It might have been something else entirely. His words fell on no ears but the unhearing ones of James.

Peter had done this.

Sirius looked around. There were signs here that there might have been at least something of a struggle, unlike at Peter's place. James had fought back. Of course he had; Sirius had known he would. James wouldn't have done anything else. Sirius felt a surge of muffled pride in his best friend.

His _dead_ best friend.

Peter had done this.

Sirius's muscles twitched as his anger came back stronger than ever. He let James slide from his arms, not wanting to possibly damage the body. It was _James_.

Sirius looked around again. His eyes darkened. They were almost black now. He surged to his feet.

"Lily."

He took off into the kitchen, but the second body wasn't there. Sirius paused, thought furiously, tried to figure where Lily would have been.

_Harry_.

He pelted for the stairs and then in the direction of Harry's nursery. He was right, there she was, a crumpled heap in front and a little to the side of Harry's crib. She looked as if she'd been pushed to the side roughly, as if she'd died standing before her son's life with her own, and had then needed to be moved out of someone's path.

There was no sign of Lily's wand anywhere.

Peter had done this.

The horrified sorrow, the blazing anger was too much this time. Sirius couldn't bear even to kneel beside the redheaded witch. He said his goodbyes standing next to her, tears distorting his vision till he was glad he couldn't see the fearful pleading expression etched on her beautiful features.

He turned his head, not wanting his tears to fall on her. She deserved them, but he didn't.

Something in Harry's crib caught his attention. It was a small Muggle stuffed animal, a black dog. Harry's favorite. Sirius had given it to him. He bent and picked it up, crying more as he did. "Snuffles," he whispered sadly.

He held it against his face, caressed his cheek with the soft plush, and for some reason he felt better even as he felt worse.

Somewhere he got the strength to crouch at Lily's side. He turned her over gently, because he didn't want to hurt her, and placed Snuffles on her chest, over her heart. He repeated his whispered prayer, but now he knew that it was just, "I love you." _I'm sorry._

He stood and left the house. It was actually smoldering now, even though Sirius had seen no signs of fire. A cold calm was creeping over him as he crunched through the grass to get away from the anti-Apparation wards that were probably still intact. Muggles were starting to swarm the place, he even passed the first of them as he marched away. He didn't care if they remembered he'd been there. He probably wouldn't be a free man long enough to enjoy being a noted criminal on the run, anyway.

He didn't care about that.

Lily and James were dead. Harry was who knew where. The house was gone.

Already he blamed himself. If only he hadn't made them let Peter be Secret Keeper. If only he'd done it himself. Maybe he'd be the one dead at that moment, but at least Lily and James would be all right. If _only_ he hadn't...

But Peter had done this.

Sirius would get him. If it was the last thing he ever did, Sirius would catch this one final rat. He owed Lily, James and Harry this much, if nothing else. Owed Remus too, because oh God had they been wrong about poor, dear Moony. But Sirius would get Peter. It was the least he could do. For everyone.

If it was the last thing he ever did...

_... get Wormtail... _

It was daylight, noon, a little market square somewhere in a city Sirius hadn't bothered to remember the name of. The round little coward didn't yet know that Sirius was there, but he would soon enough. They were clear the other side of England from Godric's Hollow, but Sirius had finally found and caught up with Peter, the day after the night Sirius's world had stopped.

It was All Saints' Day.

It didn't matter.

Heart hard and cold, Sirius watched Peter enter an alley. He was glancing around, twitching really, and looking as nervous and scared as anybody ever had -- and very well he should, for only an utter fool wouldn't know Sirius was after him. Still, watching him slink in like the rat he was, Sirius couldn't help noticing that something seemed a bit... off.

He shrugged, dismissing it as he stood up to follow Peter. It didn't matter. In a few minutes, nothing would matter because, end of the war or not, Sirius Black had a score to settle.

Nothing mattered and absolutely _nothing_ would stop him.

The house in Godric's Hollow was ruined. Lily was dead. Harry was gone, sent somewhere by Dumbledore, who would never believe Sirius's side of things. All the memories Sirius had hoped to spend years making were in tatters.

James was dead.

Sirius cleared his head as best he could and strode purposefully into the dead-end alley after the man who had betrayed them all.

For a wild moment, as he cornered his ex-friend and glared the quivering man down, he wished he could turn back time, make it so none of this had ever happened. He wanted to go back to those moments in the pub when he'd felt alone. Even that had been better than this.

He'd thought he'd known what 'alone' was like. That was nothing.

_This_ was alone.

_**fin**_


End file.
